Smile, Waverley, Smile
by Lissy Doll
Summary: AU-- Yami couldn't stand the idea of being used. Seto couldn't stand the idea of loving a puppet. In a world where personal matters are business transactions, can either of them differentiate between the two? SETO/YAMI.
1. Blindness

**Smile, Waverley, Smile**

**[Blindness by Metric]  
**

**Author:** Lissy Doll

**Rating:** PG 13 – R

**Note:** This is a complete rewrite of my **Waverley** Project. The plot, characters, and setting will remain the same for the most part with some shifts in characterizations and events; there will also be additional components that I felt the original story lacked. The story also starts in 2009. So, the gang is about age 20/21 (which is the majority age in Japan, I believe).

**Warnings:** Boy Love ahead. Also this will and always will be a **Seto/Yami** story, because I hold a lot of love for these two. **Puppyshippers Beware**: You have been forewarned and consequently shall be ignored if you choose to gripe.

**Summary:** (AU) "I can't bear the idea of having to be someone else's puppet. To be thrown away and used so casually." Those were the words Yami said to Seto before he left to join a world he had learned to hate. Those were the words that initiated him into a world of deceit and hurt caused by none other than his family. But then again, Yami was strong enough to always remind himself that it was never personal. It was just _business_.

**Disclaimer:** I hold no creative rights to the Yu-Gi-Oh series.

* * *

Sunshine, or the more scientific term sunlight, is the complete spectrum of electromagnetic radiation the sun gives off. On Earth, it is not received in its entirety because the sunlight is filtered through the atmosphere. Sunlight is intangible. Emotions are intangible. So can they, too, be filtered?

Yami squinted his wine red eyes as his gaze landed directly on the brilliant orange orb that hung at half-mast in the cornflower blue sky. This sky was the same a world over; the same to the inhabitants of an obscure, crumbling structure that used to bear some semblance to a Buddhist temple an ocean away, but yet there is a distinct difference about it. There was a distinct discomfort that hung in the ambience of the sky that was bearing down on Yami's shoulder as he tentatively stepped away from the vehicle that had brought him to the giant manor sitting impassively and impressively in front of him.

Blowing a wisp of blonde bang out his eye line, he resigned himself to the short trek towards the beautiful, regal figure standing on the threshold of the Iwamoto ancestral home. As his shuffles brought him closer and closer to the woman, he noted her sleek appearance consisting of a heather gray pencil skirt that hugged her slim figure and a pin-tuck blouse belted at the middle. This woman, with her immaculate appearance that betrayed no signs of maternity, was his mother. Just like her appearance, there was nothing warm or comforting about this woman. Her poised mannerism only served to enhance her flawless façade. She looked like she was made of marble, beautiful and cold.

There she stood in the manor's shadow, where the sunshine cannot touch her. Her facial expression schooled into a perfection that would leave Pygmalion gasping in wonder and Yami in disdain. Yami had not spoken to this woman in 18 years. And he has never seen her in person either for those past 18 years. All he had ever seen were snippets of photographs that floated around the bottom of the trunk containing all of his worldly possessions.

In 1988, right when the decline of communism began, a young woman by the name of Isis DuPerron was the secretary to one of the technological world's biggest magnate, Iwamoto Sousuke. In Domino City, Japan, she ran the affairs (from personal to professional) of the most prominent man to take a dive into the technology pool. Half a continent over, the Soviet Union was attempting to prevent economic collapse with the installation of the Perestroika. Now, in 2009 that very same woman who stood before Yami was also the mistress of the noble house of Iwamoto. While Iwamoto Robotics gained more and more prominence in the business world, Isis DuPerron gained more and more notoriety as the most beautiful secretary-cum-mistress emerging from the neo-bourgeoisie class. "Yami, dearest, do not dilly-dally in the drive way," the woman called out to him. Her eyes looked at him expectantly. Perhaps she was awaiting a hug from the prodigal son. Perhaps she was keeping up appearance in front of the help. Whatever it was, it did not incite Yami to walk any faster towards her. After 18 years of waiting for this woman to love him and to want him, Yami had grown exhausted of the wait. It was arduous and tiring to know that across an ocean there was a woman who had the decency to give him life, but not the compassion to share it with him.

"Really, dearest, we must teach you how to act properly. The heir to the house must not drag his feet." Her lilting voice chastised him from across the remaining feet of gravel barrier that stood between them. She took the last remaining steps and engulfed him in a stiff hug. Yami could feel the starch of the blouse's cloth as her arms wrapped around him, surrounding his olfactory sense with an over-powering perfume. Chanel no. 5. A perfume that is perfectly manufactured for a woman that is perfectly manufactured.

Still nestled in her elegant arms, Yami intoned stiffly, choking back the years of unshed tears and frustration, "Why am I here?"

As she righted herself and brush the non-existent lint off his button down shirt, she smiled softly and said, "Your father shall answer all the questions you have."

Yami narrowed his eyes into slits of glare, "He is not my father," his voice laced with blatant anger.

"Shh, do not ever speak such nonsense in front of your father. Such disrespect will not be tolerated, young man." No longer able to keep his composure due to the over-whelming amount of disgust that engulfed his lithe figure, Yami shoved the marble sculpture of a woman off of him.

"I will speak to whomever however I wish. You are not in any position to tell me what to do. I frankly don't give a damn." Yami hissed at her.

Isis's soft smile dropped slightly as a somber reflection crossed her face, "It is unbecoming to speak of such familial matters in the driveway. Come, we shall adjourn to father's study. The lawyers are becoming impatient with the wait of your arrival." With that, she turned around and walked briskly back into the hulking mausoleum, the clacking of her black pumps echoing off of the crème walls of the vestibule. Yami lifted his downcast eyes, which were devoid of any discernible emotions. He followed this perfect woman into the mouth of the mausoleum and up the winding vine of the staircase, his steps too, echoing, with a low thud as he slowly took each endless step upwards.

Stopping short of the double oak doors, the woman straightened her back and said lowly, "_Behave_," before pushing both doors with her elegant hands and stepping through the bursting sunlight. A bitter smile swept over Yami's face as he slowly brought his head up from its lowered, helpless position. Yami wasn't going to let these people get the satisfaction of seeing him broken. This was a luxury he can only afford on his own time. Standing erect with anger and pride, evident in the wine colored eyes, Yami stared stoically, for the first time, at the slightly rotund man that had donated half his genetics to the creation of Yami's existence.

* * *

"I have no interest in being your heir. As a matter of fact, I have no interest in being your anything." Yami spat. The spitfire of hatred burning clearly through his red orbs. His defensive stance indicated to the other occupants in the tense room that there would still be more fire and brimstone to deal with should the matter be pressed any further. However, the man which all of the animosity was directed at remained nonchalant and uncaring of the delicacy of the situation.

"You will do as I say. As your father and head of this household, I make all of the decisions." The man's deep voice growled around the Cuban Cigar lodged between his lips.

"Please, let's all discuss this matter rationally and calmly. There is no need for any of us to raise our voices." One of the faceless, nameless, lawyer cronies said, nervous sweat slicked on his forehead.

"Well, the current situation is—" but before the profusely sweating man could finish, Yami had cut in, "I cannot run your company, I was not legitimately conceived." Eyes in deadlock, father and son assessed each other, as the room grew quiet once again.

"There is no issue with that, right Koujiro?" Iwamoto smirked as he swiveled the plush leather seat around to face the wide French windows.

Annoyed at the blatant brush off Yami gritted his teeth, "What do you mean?"

The still sweating lawyer swiped a handkerchief shakily across his forehead and licked his chapped lips before continuing, "Under Japanese inheritance law Section A, Article I, it states that the foreign nationality of an heir does not pose a problem regarding the inheritance of real property, shares, bonds, or any other types of inheritable incomes in Japan. An heir who is of foreign nationality residing abroad can also own real estate in Japan. Under the laws of Japan, Article II, it is assumed that Japanese inheritance law always applies to a decedent who has Japanese nationality, wherever his/her real property is located." Yami stared blankly at the man, his body frozen from processing the information that was just fed to his brain. As neurons raced to each synapses to deliver the message of his doomsday to the central cortex of his brain's processor, the only resounding urge that laid at the core was the urge to suddenly punch the bastard who had part in his conception in the face.

"You see, Young Master Iwamoto, the situation is applicable to you, seeing as how you are of mixed descent and have, for most of your life up till now, been residing in China—" the sweaty crony's muted voice floated in the background as Yami's mind tried to assess the situation he now found himself in.

"I refuse." Yami stated abruptly, killing the useless noise escaping from the crony's esophagus.

"Bu-bu-but, but you can't!" The oh-so-witty remark of crony number two hung heavy in the silent room.

"I could give a flying fuck," Yami growled. Now there were two profusely sweating minions cowering in the corner. Yami turned to the woman sitting primly on the beige camel leather seat and repeated with the same persistent force, "I refuse. And I am leaving." Without further ado, Yami spun on his heel and stalked towards the doors ready to wrench it open.

"Don't you want to meet your sisters?" A gruff voice called out, a small hint of self-satisfaction evident in the voice.

"Yes, Yami, dearest, do you not wish to meet Anzu and Shizuka? We can discuss this matter some other time. Perhaps when you are more settled into your new environment?" The woman's voice placated.

"Sisters…" Yami whispered to himself. He had not been aware of the existence of any other siblings. A stab of loneliness and anger, that was always pervasive during his younger years at the monastery once again made itself apparent on his pained face. Lowering his head to cover his face with his multi-colored bangs Yami asked quietly, "I have sisters?"

"They are your half-sisters. From your father's first marriage." The woman said with a small smile that was meant to put Yami at ease. Instead Yami felt irritation once again at this so-called maternal figure in front of him. This woman had no idea what he was feeling, she never did. She never put in the effort to understand, always thinking of herself and her own needs first. Both of the people that had contributed to his life were the least qualified to be parents, yet here they were, pretending to understand the inner workings of parenthood and trying to capitalize on positions of care-giving.

"I have no interest." Yami said stoically. "I have no interest in your company or your family." Yami reiterated with conviction, more to himself than to anybody else in the room.

"Yami, please, try not to be too rash." Isis insisted, this time with a pleading hint in her voice. Yami snorted to himself, knowing full well that she didn't want to upset her lord and master, or else someone prettier, younger, and more competent would threaten her position as the mistress of the house.

"Enough with this nonsense. I'll have the butler show you to your room. You can meet your sisters when you are settled and we can discuss this some more after you are more accustomed to the idea of being heir." Iwamoto stated as he took a puff of his cigar. Crushing the remains into his ashtray the man rang for a manservant, that promptly arrived at the door. With a deep bow, and in a stiff, posh accent, the servant guided Yami out into the corridor. Turning back to the closing oak doors, Yami saw a tiny attempt of a comforting smile flicker on Isis's face, her eyes shining with some unknown emotion that caused Yami's stomach to gnaw at its innards.

* * *

"And this, Master Yami, shall be your new living quarters. Should anything not be to your liking, just ring downstairs and the maids will take care of it." The man bowed once again before exiting the room swiftly and closing the double doors behind him. Yami noted the ostentatious design of the room. Painted with a deep, royal blue, the walls contained a Fleur de Lis pattern painted in bright gold. It did not escape Yami's attention how odd it was to have a French Aristocratic themed mansion in the middle of Japan. Though Yami could venture a guess or two that his mother had been having an interior designer over for tea more than enough time since she had assumed reign.

Sighing to himself, he sat down on the edge of the plush, king-sized poster bed with its gossamer curtains billowing from the breeze that escaped through the balcony doors from the outside world. Yami ran his hands up and down the soft material of the bed curtains absent-mindedly. A soft noise tinkled under the crack of the bedroom doors and towards his ear. A delicate melody was playing somewhere within the deep recess of the manor. Cracking his door open he peered down the hall towards where the music was making its melodious escape. He located the source to be from where bright sunlight filtered into the dark, ominous hallway through a pair of open white double doors. Walking out of his room and closing the doors with a soft click, Yami walked tentatively towards the lilting sound. Stopping short right outside one of the white doors, Yami peeked over the edge to catch a glimpse of two young women, both brunettes, sitting in perfectly compatible silence listening to the music.

"It is the Transcendental Etude No. 4, 'Mazeppa,' composed by Franz Liszt and performed by Claudio Arrau," a soft voice rang out. "That was what you wondering whilst standing there, was it not?" The voice asked. Yami, embarrassed at being caught, stood with his back stilled against the wall. He coughed to calm his nerves before stepping out of the shadows into the bright, sun-lit room. Sitting in high back, embroidered with obsidian swirls, scarlet velvet fauteuil chairs around an equally elaborate mahogany table laden with various trays of pastries and a tea set, were the two girls he had caught a glimpse of.

A girl with a short, stylish, chestnut-colored bob smiled kindly at him. Her eager blue eyes crinkled at the corner with enthusiasm as her smile slowly spread into a grin, whilst the other girl sat with her back ramrod straight, sipping a cup of tea. "Please sit down," the girl with the tea cup indicated to an empty seat, "We have been quite excited with the prospect of meeting you since your arrival midmorning," the girl continued as she put down her tea cup and placed her hands primly into her lap. The girl who had first spoken to Yami had mid-length, strawberry-red hair and gentle, doe-brown eyes that seemed glazed over with a shiny gloss of light.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." Yami said quietly as he lowered himself onto the seat.

"Nonsense, Shizuka is right, we have been awfully excited about meeting you since Papa said you were coming to live with us." The girl with blue eyes chirruped cheerfully, her eyes slanting upwards into slits of happiness. Yami offered her an uncomfortable smile.

The girl, Shizuka, turned her head and settled her eyes upon Yami in what seemed to be a silent assessment. Once done she picked up the china teapot with pink, floral patterns and said, "Would you care for some tea?" Before he could shake his head in polite refusal she had acquired a cup out of nowhere and set it down in front of Yami. "It's Darjeeling." She said, once again answering the silent questions in his head.

"Oh, how rude of us, we did not even properly introduce ourselves," the blue eyed girl exclaimed with a dainty gasp. "My name is Anzu and that is my sister Shizuka. Unfortunately, Shizuka cannot see, so I hope you do not mind if I were to describe you to her." Blue-eyed girl, or Anzu, said.

Yami knitted his eyebrows in disconcertion, "I wasn't aware. I'm sorry."

Shizuka smiled at him with her head slightly tilted, "It is quite alright. I have been blind since a very young age. My other senses are extraordinarily heightened, though. That is why I could hear you despite the music." Yami nodded his head, but caught himself with the awareness that Shizuka could not see.

From his point of view, Yami surreptitiously picked out the difference in Shizuka's eyes from her sister's. While Anzu's eyes held youth and enthusiasm, Shizuka's held blankness and vacancy. While Anzu's sparkled like the ocean during a beautiful sunny day, Shizuka's was unmoving and empty like the ocean on a cold and dreary day during the calm before a storm.

Anzu catching this silent appraisal from her peripheral vision giggled silently, "Yami has tri-colored hair, Shi-Shi. He has these red and black spikes and blonde bangs that frame his face," Anzu noted cheerfully from behind her cup.

Yami blushed at the sudden description while Shizuka smiled indulgently at her cheerful sister, "Really now," Shizuka replied, interest piqued. "HmmMmm," Anzu nodded affirmatively. "He also has these ruby red eyes that are big like one of those porcelain dolls!" Anzu giggled. Shizuka smiled at her sister's enthusiasm.

"Thank you, Anz. I can imagine them somewhat in my mind," Shizuka said as she reached forward with her hand. Yami, still blushing at the descriptions pouring out of Anzu's mouth, felt a flash of concern as he watched Shizuka grope for whatever it was she was looking for. Anzu merely sat back and tapped her index finger against her chin in contemplation of what to describe about Yami next. "Do not worry about me, Yami. I am blind, not an invalid. I am perfectly capable of completing a simple task as finding a spoon laid out on a table," Shizuka said, with amusement in her voice.

"Oh, he is very petite. I am almost sure he is a bit smaller than the both of us." Anzu said with a sudden burst. Again, Yami blushed.

"Perhaps we should converse about something else. I am afraid, dear sister, that we are embarrassing our brother," Shizuka said gently. Yami silently thanked the girl for her insightfulness and was glad the topic finally drifted off his appearance. "Tell us, Yami, what was it like where you grew up!" Anzu's exuberance once again making an appearance.

Yami shifted in his seat a bit before answering, "I grew up in Zhanshan temple in the northern Shandong province of mainland China."

"That must have been picturesque. There is something awfully romantic about it, don't you think, Shizuka?" Anzu's eyes drifted off into dreamy contemplation of verdant mountains with steep valleys of mist and sparkling, crystal-clear water.

"I suppose," Yami said, smiling at the girl's capacity for imagination.

"Tell us, what did the temple look like? Were there a lot of stairs like in those old kung fu movies?" The effervescence that surrounded Anzu amplified as she sat forward with her eyes sparkling at the notion of monks running up and down hundreds of stone steps carrying buckets of water for training.

Yami chuckled, "Yes, there were quite a number of stairs that led from the sea shore up to the temple grounds. After the Cultural Revolution, with the administration's propaganda about destruction of old ideals, many temples and religious sites met with desecration. But the monks did their best to keep the temple presentable. We get a lot of tourists, somewhere in the thousands, during Buddha's birthday on April 8th."

"Wow, that must be so amazing. We have been stuck here our entire life. And when we travel, Papa never lets us leave without security detail following us. So, we never get to do anything fun," Anzu pouted.

Smiling sympathetically Yami opened his mouth to comfort the girl but was interrupted by a pair of muffled clacking heels that entered the room, "Ahh—here you all are. I am glad you had the chance to meet your sisters, Yami. Your father wishes for all of you to go to your rooms and prepare for the party tonight. Yami, we, both your father and I, would like it for you to conduct yourself with decorum at your debut tonight," the woman said before making her exit. Yami's mouth thinned into a small line as he gripped the handles of his chair.

Both sisters sat in silence. "I suppose we should do as Miss Isis asks," Shizuka said softly as she rose out of her seat. Anzu stood up to go help her sister, "We shall see you tonight, Yami." Anzu offered him one last smile before leading her sister out of the room.

* * *

The Ball Room held people of all manners and types, but each and every one had one thing in common: and it was the luxury of being in the elite one-percent of the world. None of the people present understood the concept of poverty, humility, nor could they even look past the superficial, gilded image of wealth that was perpetuated by the superciliousness of their lifestyle. Yami, needless to say, had never felt a stronger urge to vomit from disgust. Sipping on some sort of expensive champagne from a crystal flute, Yami gazed around the crowded room.

Up near the decadent stage area, Isis DuPerron captivated the attention of a group of aging, over-weight businessmen from abroad. Her beauty entrenched them around her statuesque figure, which was wrapped in a slinky, black, Oscar De La Renta vintage original. Her plunging neckline displayed her ample cleavage and nestled in between was a Winston diamond necklace that was the envy of every woman present. As she raised her left hand to cover her mouth in a dainty laugh, Yami snorted and turned away in fear of retching all over his thousand dollars suit. Off to his left, Yami caught snippets of a conversation between two snooty CEOs:

"Well, hopefully the economic fallout will heavily affect the production quality of Kaiba Corp."

"Yes, that Kaiba brat thinks too highly of himself. I simply cannot stand the idea of his company being the only one that survives this recession."

"Hahaha, indeed. I hope he falls on his ass more heavily than the rest of us. Thank God I had my secretary transfer funds to my Cayman account."

"You are absolutely terrible!"

"It's only embezzlement if—"

Yami turned away, feeling too disgusted to even bear to be near such people. Walking over to an empty table near the back he observed Shizuka dancing with a tall, brunette. The man was well over 6'0 and had broad shoulders that were encased in a nice gray suit with black pinstripes. As the man twirled Shizuka around, she let out a gasp of laughter. Simultaneously, Yami widened his eyes as he looked at the man's face. An angular face that exuded all manners of confidence, with strong jaws, that held a set of deep, sapphire blue eyes more vibrant than Anzu's drew Yami's attention like a magnetic field.

The man's chocolate brown hair was slicked back with absolute perfection. The man looked to be the kind that is always composed and perfectly made together. The sort that was unruffled by unexpected events because he had already foreseen all possible outcomes. Yami stared at the man in slight awe before blushing to his roots. Yami caught himself and quickly got up to leave before anyone had noticed his momentary lapse of sanity, however a tad bit too late due to Anzu's knowing eyes following him out to the balcony.

Anzu smiled from behind her champagne flute as she quickly made her way to the dancing couple. As she neared, her eyes took in the scene of unadulterated joy before her: Shizuka was dancing with as much grace as a blind person can muster, which amounted to frequently stepping on Kaiba Seto's feet. Seto, however, being the good-natured person he is around Shizuka, merely chuckled at her inability to dance.

"Has anyone ever told you, Shizuka, you have two left feet," Seto chuckled deeply.

"Do not tease me, Seto. For I am already quite vexed with you for suggesting this idea," Shizuka chided warningly.

Clearing her throat a tad bit too loudly, Anzu waited for the two to notice her presence. As per usual, it was always Shizuka who took note first, "Anz, please tell Seto that I do not have the grace of a baboon."

Laughing at her sister's request, Anzu nodded her head, "Nope, Shi-Shi, you totally do."

Harrumphing at being double-teamed, Shizuka released Seto's hand and walked over to Anzu, grabbing Anzu's arm and dragging her to the nearest table. Seto blinked bemusedly at being left behind by the girls, and moved off to find the waiters with alcohol. It was going to be a long night after all. Now that Shizuka had been stolen from him, he was going to have to face the plethora of women that were going to shamelessly throw themselves at him, and in order to reject them with any sense of politeness, he was going to need alcohol. A lot of it.

* * *

Yami leaned forward against the stone railing and let loose another wisp of smoke. He watched as the tendrils curled into the air particles and disappeared, as if being consumed by its surroundings. Closing his eyes and lifting his face up towards the luminescent moon, he felt the soft lunar glow touching his skin. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware anyone was out here. I didn't mean to interrupt," a deep voice broke through Yami's thought.

Turning his head slight right and opening his right eye only, his eye took in the sight of the tall, brunette man he was watching earlier in the ball room. Yami gasped in shock, dropped his cigarette, and stumbled a bit before feeling the clasp of a big, strong hand on his upper arm steadying him from falling. "Th-thank you." Yami stammered.

The man chuckled lightly, "No problem. It was my fault for startling you anyways." The man took a sip of his drink as he turned to gaze up at the night sky. Yami, from the corner of his eyes, stared at the man, slowly memorizing the details of the man's face; from the quirk near the corner of the man's smirk to the pale arch of strong muscles in the column of the man's neck.

"Kaiba, Seto." The man said out of nowhere.

"Huh?"

Chuckling once more, the man said, "You're kind of slow. My name is Kaiba, Seto."

Yami frowned deeply, "I'm not slow," Yami mumbled. Puzzlement slithered across Yami's consciousness for a second; he recognized the name from somewhere. Yami was sure that he had heard the name Kaiba mentioned before but before he could ponder it any further, Seto's voice interrupted his reverie.

"And you, I believe, from that grandiose introduction at the beginning, is the new Iwamoto heir. Yami, right?" Seto inquired, his perpetual smirk still present.

Yami rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yeah, that's me."

Seto looked at Yami for a brief second before flickering his eyes back up to the night sky, "Time moves very differently at the event horizon. The image that is brought to us by the speed of light is nothing more than an after image. A photograph of the past."

"I didn't know that." Yami said, turning his head slightly to look at Seto, who was still gazing at the sky. "What brings you out here anyways?" Yami asked quietly.

"Well, same reason as you, I imagine. To escape all the piranhas that wants to devour me whole," the remark was accompanied by a wink. Yami couldn't help but blush.

Yami hummed an agreement. "I'm pretty sick of being here. These people, they disgust me so much."

Seto looked at Yami, for what Yami felt to be an indeterminate amount of time before saying, "Not everyone here is like that. That is quite a generalization you are making."

"Really? Because I feel very justified in saying what I just did. These people cannot comprehend anything that falls outside of their sphere of complacency and comfort," Yami said with vehemence, his wine red eyes narrowed in irritation.

Seto gave a barking laugh. Yami glared at the laughing man, knowing full well that he was being mocked. "You are incredibly judgmental and ignorant," the blue-eyed man said. "You come in here, sitting on your moral pedestal, thinking that everyone in the blue-blood half of the human spectrum live to make a profit off the lives of the less-fortunate. But you have no idea how black and white your ideas are."

Yami, now with a full on glare intact, said with shaking anger, "I do not think I am morally superior to all of those money-sucking, life-profiteers, but I do think that I have more of a grounded perspective than you."

Smiling easily at Yami, Seto pulled the young man close. Holding his small, heart-shaped face in his hand, Seto's eyes probed Yami's defiant face. Leaning in further till his lips are rested against the shell of Yami's ear, Seto said, "If life really was as linear as you claim, and people can be delineated into categories of good and evil based on their material wealth, then how do explain people like Shizuka and Anzu?" Yami tried to suppress the shudder that threatened to run down his spine from having Seto in such close proximity.

"You should try opening up to people more. Give them a chance."

And with that, Yami found himself alone once again, the soft moonlight shining down on his shocked form. Unable to filter out anything anymore, Yami's body became receptive to everything in his surrounding, from the noise escaping the party, to the light breeze that caressed his body, to the sound of crickets off in the distance.


	2. Tell me what to swallow

**Smile, Waverley, Smile**

**[Tell me what to swallow by Crystal Castles]**

**Author:** Lissy Doll

**Rating:** PG 13

**Note: **Each chapter title is named after a song that inspired me during the process of writing the chapter. Feel free to take a listen.

**Disclaimer:** I hold no creative rights to the Yu-Gi-Oh series.

* * *

Since the year 1990, a main public health concern of the Japanese Government was the rapid increase of suicide rates. Suicide rates in Japan had instantaneously increased in the face of global financial crisis and are mainly prevalent amongst men. In the year 2004 alone around 78 suicide cases were reported, amongst that number one was filed under the name Gozaburo Kaiba.

Seto was 16 when his adopted father had thrown himself out of the 48th floor of his office building in the middle of the bustling Domino City Financial and Banking District. The man had hoisted his body over the ledge of the giant gliding windows overlooking the panoramic view of the city and stood there for no more than 5 minutes. No one was aware of this until an unimportant, low-level accountant had decided to open the window of his office, one floor below, to sneak a cigarette break. Lighting up a Marlboro Red and taking a deep inhale, the low-level accountant looked up to see the soles of a pair of expensive Italian loafers situated directly above his eye line peeking over the ledge. The low-level accountant promptly fell off his seat and his dangling cigarette left a burn mark on his oxford polo from where the burning ashes of the cigarette landed. Needless to say, before the man could even run for security or any types of help, a falling blur of red had already made its descent to the hard concrete 46 floors below.

Seto was 16 and he was in the middle of a physics test when the principal came into his classroom to escort him to the main office. Ironically the question he was in the middle of answering was this:

An apple after having fallen from rest on a tree branch, under the influence of gravity, for 6 seconds crashes through a horizontal glass table, thereby losing 2/3 of its velocity. If it then reaches the ground in 2 seconds, find the height of the plate of the glass table above the ground?

When he had heard the news, sitting there in the principal's office on some cheap yellow plastic chairs with a horrid stripe pattern on it, the only thing he could think of was this:

An overbearing, failing businessman jumps out of a window, under the influence of gravity, from 48 stories above the ground, but meets with wind resistance, thereby losing 2/3 of his velocity. How many seconds did it take for him to splatter his intestines and crushed bones all over the sidewalk?

Being a firm believer in the philosophical school of thought '_What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger_,' Seto merely nodded his head politely and asked that he can return to the classroom to finish his exam before taking the day off to grieve the loss of the head of the household. The principal was incredibly sympathetic and was very moved by the strong, young man in front of him. Even in the face of such potent adversity as death, Kaiba Seto remained as strong-willed as ever.

Seto sighed as he shifted through the paperwork on his oak desk. He was still nursing a massive hang over from the previous night and the niggling feeling that had been present since the conversation he had with Yami was being just as persistent as his pounding headache. Eyeing the requisition forms on his desk, Seto fought the urge to turn to pyromania as a solution to his problems. Administration really wasn't his thing, which really had put into perspective how wrong of a profession he had chosen for himself, but being the CEO and majority shareholder of his company allowed him to do whatever he wanted with technological development, that is when he wasn't filling out paperwork or sitting through mundane business meetings.

A soft yawn reached Seto's ear as he looked up from the forms in his hands. Pushing his glasses further up the perch of his nose, he noted his baby brother standing at the door in the middle of a giant yawn. "Mmm, morning big brother. How was the party last night?" Mokuba asked, his big, granite-gray eyes watering around the edge from the remnants of sleep. Seto smiled softly at the endearing sight of his brother, 14 years old, and still wearing footie pajamas.

"It was the usual affair." Seto replied, getting up out of his seat and ushering his brother towards the kitchen.

"What was it for, big brother?"

"The Iwamoto's unveiled their hidden progeny. Some kid named Yami. Apparently he's going to be the next heir to Iwamoto Robotics." Seto said as he rifled through the refrigerator for food. "You want pancakes, Mokie?"

"Yum! I'm down like a clown for some pancakes," Mokuba exclaimed. Seto made a face at the expression as he closed the fridge doors and set the ingredients down on the counter.

"Why do kids these days speak like that?" Seto wondered with mild disgust.

Mokuba merely guffawed at his brother, "You're not that much older than me, big brother! Besides back in your days you guys had weird sayings too."

"Excuse me, little man, but I would never be caught dead saying something as silly as that." Seto said as he cracked an egg open over the yellow mixer bowl.

"I bet if you said something like that, you'll definitely make Shizuka laugh! Speaking of which, are you going to take me to visit her today? You wouldn't let me go to that party last night so this is the least you could do, big brother." Seto rolled his eyes, knowing full well that the puppy-dog pout was already in place and ready to be deployed faster than a heat-seeking missile.

"Yeah, keep your footie pajamas on. I'll take you to see Shizuka. And I didn't take you because the last party you went to you decided it would be funny to put ex-lax in people's drinks."

"That's because it was funny. You laughed." Mokuba said pointedly.

Seto tried to suppress his smile, "Don't be a smartass. Or I'll ground you again."

* * *

Yami laid stock still on his back. The sunlight was hurting his eyes, but he couldn't find the strength to turn away from the bright, warm glow. Staring up at the canopy of his bed he idly wondered if he had to make an appearance down at the breakfast table, not that he cared about missing any 'quality family time' or anything. Closing his wine red eyes slowly, Yami turned to his right and slid off the bed, falling onto the plush carpet floor. Not really feeling the urge to move right away, Yami lay there with his face pressed up against the floor for a minute before pushing himself upwards towards his trunk.

Lifting open the late 19th century Louis Vuitton vintage travel trunk, Yami rummaged around for his CD wallet case. Looking down at the fading LV insignia printed all over the trunk's available surfaces, Yami took note of the different travel stickers posted on the lid. When he was younger he had wondered if his mother had really visited all of those places and whether or not the trunk had actually accompanied her on her trips to those foreign lands. His favorite sticker, the one that he used to frequently run his tiny fingers over when he laid down on his cot at night in the drafty monastery, was a painted imitation of the Venice canals. On it the words 'Hotel De La Gare & Germania Venezia' was printed in yellow Castellar script.

Sighing to himself, Yami flipped through the CD wallet for the right music to alleviate the malaise that had settled over him since last night. The reality still had not set in, and Yami was trying his best to resist the idea that there really were no other options then to consent to being the Iwamoto heir. It would seem that he had been pluck from neglection to just be placed into forced attention.

Walking over to the stereo system, he gingerly slipped the CD into the player and went to flop back down onto the bed. The soft guitar melody of 'Casimir Pulaski Day' crawled out of the speakers and towards Yami's attentive ears. As Sufjan Steven's melancholic voice sang about getting bone cancer, bible study groups, and crying fathers, Yami closed his eyes to the world and tried to stop the shaking in his right leg. When Yami was 16 the monks had received a letter from his father's secretary, otherwise known as his mother. The letter requested that he should be pushed through pre-calculus as quickly as possible and be taught university-level calculus before the end of fall. Whenever he had a test during that time, the stress of comprehending higher-level math had caused him to develop a nervous twitch in his right leg, which, consequently developed into a psychosomatic syndrome that was triggered when he was unnerved by something. Now, at the age of 21, he had better control over it, but it still shook when he was alone and thinking about the cause of the distress.

"_On the floor at the great divide, with my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied, I am crying in the bathroom…"_ Sufjan Stevens's voice washed over Yami._ "Oh the glory, when he took our place, but he took my shoulders and he shook my face. And he takes and he takes and he takes…" _

As the last refrain of the song slowly disappeared into the airwaves, and the sound of the bedroom door slowly creaking open caused Yami to jerk out of his thoughts and opened his eyes in surprised. "Anzu… is there something you needed?" Yami asked, surprise still evident on his face as he sat up to face the girl. Anzu shook her head lightly, causing her short hair to swish from side to side. Smiling softly, she walked towards his bed and gently sat down on the edge near Yami's left foot.

"I was just wondering if you were going to come down to breakfast," she asked him, her gentle smile still intact. Unaccustomed to this silent Anzu, Yami simply shook his head indicating his disinterest in coming out of his bedroom. "Well, papa and Ms. Isis were waiting for you. I told them I would come up here to get you," she continued.

"Tell them I'm not hungry," Yam said as he lay back down, crossing his arms over his eyes.

After a moment of pure silence, Anzu shifted to lie down next to Yami's still figure. Placing her arms on the side of her body she looked directly up at the canopy of the bed. The song 'Chicago' began to play and Sufjan Stevens was singing about making mistakes, falling in love, and crying in a van with friends. The soft smile on Anzu's face faded with the lyrics of the song. "We went to Chicago when Shizuka was 6 and I was 7. Shizuka still had her sight then. Our father was still married to our mother and that was before the stomach cancer had eaten away at her happiness and life. She took us to Buckingham Fountain and gave each of us a quarter to throw in. She said it wasn't the Trevi Fountain, but we could still make a wish. I had wished for a romance like in 'Roman Holiday.' In retrospect, it seemed incredibly silly. Then she took us for a ride on the subway. I think she knew that this was going to be the last time she was ever really happy," Anzu said softly.

Yami could feel the slow, creeping warmth of the sunlight on his cheeks. He continued to lay there in silence. Anzu turned to her right side and gazed at Yami's still figure. Her electric blue eyes dulled to a soft baby blue as she rested her cheek onto her palm. Tentatively, she reached out her left hand to touch the material of Yami's white t-shirt. Shyly gripping the edge of the shirttail sticking out from his blue, acid wash jeans, Anzu answered Yami's silence, "She died two years ago."

"I think the little tragedies," her tiny voice said, "are what makes us who we are. When I was 12, I desperately wanted my mother to look at me, but she was too busy trying to regain my father's affection. One afternoon, out of sheer boredom and childish spite, I snuck into her washroom and rifled through her medicine cabinet. I took a handful of Phenobarbital, Demerol, Vicodin, Lexapro, Dexedrine, and God knows what other Amphetamines. To me, it had all looked like a handful of colorful candies waiting for me to shove into my mouth. My mother was going to love me after this, I had thought to myself. Half an hour of seizing and choking on saliva, a bumpy ride in a wailing ambulance, and 10 minutes of having my stomach pumped later, I realized, I was back to square one. Either I had to take more drugs or do something more drastic. Like kill myself." After what felt like an eternity of pure silence, Anzu released her grip on Yami's shirt and sat up with her back to him. Her straight Geisha bangs covered her eyes as a small smile slowly made its way to her pale face, "I shall tell them you decided to forego breakfast."

As the door closed with a gentle click, Yami felt another warmth creeping down his face. His arms blocked his eyes from the sun but were doing nothing to prevent the steady stream of salty tears that ran down from the edge of his eyes.

* * *

When Seto was 16, he developed a fascination with numbers, percentages, and statistics. More specifically, he became engrossed in the measurement of lives: the happiness, the sadness, the deaths, and the living. When Shizuka and Anzu's mother killed herself, no longer able to bear looking in the mirror due to the result of chemotherapy and the pain of having to endure a cheating husband and a killing disease, Seto had told Anzu, "The Cabinet Office has a panel of experts drafting an outline of measures that aim to cut suicides by 20 percent by 2016 to around 25,000 a year, with the inclusion of bolstering mental health support services."

Seto's fascination was not suicide or even death for that matter. No, not that at all. As Matthew Modine once said, "The dead knows only one thing: it is better to be alive." And alive Seto was.

Seto's fascination was the numbers. After all, being the young heir apparent to a multi-billion dollar, transnational conglomerate configured the way he thought of people into being merely data. Well, that was how he had thought of life and people until Shizuka had slapped him right across the face for saying something that cold and insensitive to Anzu.

It could be said, by close associates of the Iwamoto Family and the nosy busybodies of the upper crust, that Shizuka was Seto's saving grace. But Anzu knows better. Anzu knows that while Shizuka did her best to melt the steel cold, hard exterior of Seto's façade, Seto was still just as jaded and bitter deep down. Anzu could never figure out Seto, and Shizuka once said that to do something like that was to have the power to unravel all the complex emotions and thoughts human beings harbored in the deep recess of their minds.

Seto pulled the car into a slow stop and pushed the gearshift into park. As Mokuba clambered out of the car with his hands wrapped carefully around his jacket, Seto had a sneaking suspicion that the younger Kaiba was up to no good, as he usually was. Running over the threshold of the manor and straight through the open doors, Mokuba ignored the stiff, stern looking man holding the door open. Seto nodded to the butler as he followed Mokuba's ascension up the winding stairs. The butler cleared his throat pointedly before calling out, "Miss Shizuka is in the gardens out back." Seto slowed mid-step and nodded again in thanks before calling Mokuba back down the stairs.

Turning back around, Seto caught sight of a spiky-haired individual sitting on a stone bench under the apple tree through the bay window on the second landing. The individual had headphones snapped on over unruly hair and completely covering his ears, whilst wholly engrossed in a book. From where he was standing, Seto could not make out the title, but a smirk began to form on Seto's face as he turned away to walk back down the stairs. Once again, Mokuba rushed past Seto and towards the gardens in the back of the manor.

After picking his way through the halls of the spacious manor, Seto emerged out into the sunshine. Instead of following Mokuba's slowly fading footsteps down the stone steps towards the rose garden, Seto made his way over the lone figure hunched over a book. "A Wild Sheep Chase by Murakami Haruki," Seto mused out loud as he looked at the peculiar book cover displaying a sheep's backside with a prominent black star on it. The reader of the book clutched the book closer to his face as he shoulders tensed up in what was most likely anger. Not bothering to lower the book to even acknowledge the smirking CEO, the individual continued to read. "Is it any good?" Seto goaded.

No response came from behind the book. Smirking wider, Seto plucked the book from the hands gripping tightly onto it. Holding the book away from its reader, Seto looked at the aggravated face of one angry Yami. Headphones still sitting on his head, Yami pretended like he couldn't hear the CEO over his music, but both party knew that the volume was not nearly loud enough to drown out Seto's voice, for if it really were the case, Yami would not look so annoyed at Seto.

Rolling his eyes, Yami lowered the headphones down to the column of his neck. "It's good," Yami said simply. Seto raised one eyebrow in amusement.

"You know, you do seem like the type to read this sort of literature. I bet you like Jack Kerouac, Ryu Murakami, and Thomas Pynchon too, don't you?" Seto said teasingly.

Yami puffed out a sigh of annoyance and reached for his pack of cigarette that was sitting beside him on the bench. Lighting up the Camel Crush he gestured at Seto, "And you seem like one of those snobby assholes that only reads Fyodor Dostoevsky, Somerset Maugham, and Marcel Proust." An ironic smile made its way to Yami's irritated face. "What do you want, Kaiba? I thought you find me ignorant."

Seto's smirk grew into a lazy smile as he placed the book precariously on top of Yami's spiky head, "Oh I do," he assured the shorter man, "But I also find you to be a fascinating source of amusement."

"Asshole." Yami said with narrowed eyes as he grabbed the book before it could fall off its perch on his head.

"You would like Chuck Palahniuk. He's into that whole disaffected youth immersed in the antipathy and anarchy scene you seem so proud of labeling yourself with." Smirking wider Seto grabbed Yami's cigarette before any protestation could make its way to the irate man's lips and took a quick inhale before handing it back. "What are you listening to?" Seto asked good-naturedly as he exhaled.

"Something that doesn't grate on my nerves like the sound of your voice does," Yami bit back.

Laughing at the unbidden animosity, Seto asked again, "What is it called? Genre. Artist. Song name. Etcetera."

"Punk. The Stalin. That's like casting pearls before swine. Etcetera," Yami deadpanned.

Seto smiled but before he could supply a witty retort Mokuba had come bounding back and had ran smack dabbed into Seto's side, causing him to stumble a two-steps back. "Ok, Seto, I'm ready to go!" Mokuba said with his arms still wrapped around Seto's waist area.

Looking down at his brother, Seto nodded, "Where's Shizuka?"

"She's keeping Anzu company, while Anzu tends to the rose bushes," Mokuba said as he released Seto from his grip. Looking curiously at a wide-eyed Yami, whose cigarette was burning down to the butt, Mokuba asked with a point of his index finger, "Who's that?"

"Don't point. It's rude, Mokuba," Seto chastised, "That's Iwamoto Yami. Shizuka and Anzu's brother."

Mokuba nodded before breaking out into a huge grin, "Hiya! I'm Kaiba Mokuba, nice to meet you." Mokuba waved his hand vigorously in front of Yami's face. Yami, never given the chance to interact with other children when he was young, did not know what to do in such a situation and weakly smiled before slowly waving back at the enthusiastic young man.

Noting the deer-in-the-headlights expression that had settled on Yami's face, Seto took advantage of the situation, "Mokuba, why don't you keep Yami company while I go say bye to Shizuka." Smirking at the alarmed look that crossed Yami's face, Seto walked off before the shorter man could protest.

* * *

Plopping down on the stone bench next to Shizuka, Seto waved at Anzu who looked up from her rose bush with the same perpetual smile on her face. Anzu shifted her sun hat forward to block out the light before continuing with her work digging up the weeds that had grown in a chokehold around the rose bush. From where he sat on the bench, Seto can see the sharp glint of sunlight reflecting off of the water droplets on the crimson red roses. Leaning back against the brick wall, Seto's eyes shifted to the side to catch glimpse of Shizuka's gentle face. Smiling genteelly at Seto, Shizuka said, "Did you have a good conversation, dearest?"

A small snort escaped from Seto's amused face, "Why, yes, it was quite lovely," Seto drawled.

Shifting his powder-blue eyes over to assess Shizuka's smiling face, Seto asked, "How did you know?"

"The scent of nicotine and tobacco," Shizuka answered knowingly, with the same smile firmly intact.

Humming thoughtfully, Shizuka swung her long legs up onto the stone bench and folded them elegantly together. "Mokuba brought me a little kitty," she continued, "He said it is snow white with these gorgeous hazel green eyes."

Quirking an eyebrow in interest, Seto noticed a tiny little white ball of fluff batting away at invisible dust particles near Anzu's legs. "So, that's what he was hiding in his jacket in the car," Seto said with quiet contemplation. "What have you named the cat?" Seto inquired, an amused curiosity settling in his voice.

"Macavity," Shizuka said declaratively.

"Like the T.S. Eliot poem?"

"Exactly like the T.S. Eliot poem," She nodded her head in affirmation.

"He's going to get beaten up on the playground by the other little kitties," Seto said teasingly.

"He shall defend himself with the grace and honor befitting the Iwamoto name," Shizuka replied knowingly, nodding her head with an added emphasis.

Laughing at Shizuka's conviction and belief in the little fluff ball, Seto leaned his shoulder back against the brick wall, allowing relaxation to wash over his tense shoulders. Closing his eyes and allowing the soft breeze to cool against his hot skin, Seto felt at ease despite the large amount of paperwork that awaited his return at home. Sitting there on the stone bench next to Shizuka, Seto felt that this was what summer should always feel like: it should feel like light and air filled with the lingering scent of roses.

Shizuka's lilting laughter snapped Seto out of his reverie. Cracking open his eyes, Seto's gaze landed on a small white kitty nuzzling itself against Shizuka's crossed legs. Petting the little kitty softly on the head, Shizuka looked up towards Seto's direction. Her soft brown eyes squinting at him as though the sunlight could reach through the veil of blindness and touch her where her non-existent sight should be. "Holland sounds like a very sad place. Or maybe it is just a very sad word. The word itself is melancholic. Elongation of the 'l' sound and the unstress 'and' makes it feel like a breath of cold air you accidentally inhale on a winter's day," she said out of nowhere.

Smiling at her expected intervals of randomness, Seto merely inclined to agree with her, "Something like that."

When Seto had first met Shizuka, the both of them were but 13 years old; too young of an age to recognize a long-lasting friendship in the making, but old enough to know when a close bond was inevitable. At that time, Shizuka had been diagnosed with acute Leber optic atrophy or simply known as LHON, while Anzu was still trying to reach her goal of consuming the myriad of rainbow colored pills she found in the medicine cabinet. Shizuka, through some cosmic stroke of misfortune had been the only one to inherit the mitochondrial defect from their mother.

The doctors, top specialists from John Hopkins and various other medical facilities around the country, had all come to one conclusion: Shizuka would never be able to utilize her eyesight again for as long she lives.

It wouldn't be until Anzu had grown up to be 19 years of age and Shizuka, long since losing her vision and in the process of forgetting what it felt like to be able to physically see, that Anzu finally stabilized herself into a semblance of functionality. But Shizuka didn't need sight to be able to see that no matter what the doctors insisted or their father tried to ignore, Anzu wasn't getting any better, especially not by keeping up false pretense.

"Also all that ice and snow and coldness dwindling into the darkness of oblivion. How does life survive in such a desolate place?"

Seto looked up at the clear, baby blue skies before getting up to stand on his feet. Gently touching Shizuka's cheek, Seto smiled as he looked into her dull eyes, void of light and warmth, "Life is stubborn like that. Given the chance and the sunlight, it'll persevere."


End file.
